


A Matter of Trust

by shatteredwriters



Series: Brothers in Arms [2]
Category: MASH (TV)
Genre: Am I Really Writing New MASH Fics in 2020?, Angst, Benjamin Franklin "Hawkeye" Pierce Whump, Bonding, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Everyone Loves B. J. Hunnicutt, Everyone Loves Benjamin Franklin "Hawkeye" Pierce, Fluff, Fluff and Angst, Friendship, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, I Love These Characters and This Show, References to MASH (TV), Sorry Not Sorry, Trust Issues, Tumblr Prompt, mash au
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-15
Updated: 2020-05-15
Packaged: 2021-03-02 23:27:33
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,124
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24175093
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/shatteredwriters/pseuds/shatteredwriters
Summary: “You done stonewalling, or what?” Hawkeye’s shoulders tense. He slowly shakes his head and glances towards the sky, as if looking for an answer, some kind of strength or solace. But the inky darkness, punctuated by a smattering of muted starlight, offers nothing. “It’s really not that big of a deal, Beej…”
Relationships: B. J. Hunnicutt & Benjamin Franklin "Hawkeye" Pierce
Series: Brothers in Arms [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1741429
Comments: 7
Kudos: 43





	A Matter of Trust

**Author's Note:**

> Boy oh boy! This one was fun to write. I challenged myself to find a super random Tumblr prompt (which I did) and tie it in to M*A*S*H! Naturally, I couldn't steer too far away from whump, because, well...it's me. Sorry not sorry. Anywho, so the Tumblr prompt is: “Never saw one without the other, did you?” I really just could not get this idea out of my head after finding this prompt. I hope you all enjoy!
> 
> Title taken from the awesome Billy Joel song by the same name. Sadly, do not own these characters, or this show. I'm just borrowing(:
> 
> This is the second installment in my series, Brothers in Arms. There are some references to the events from that fic, so you may want to read it first. But this can stand alone.
> 
> Warning: a few sprinkles of language in this one (whoops)!

Hawkeye throws down his hand exasperatedly. This was his fifth round of absolute _shit_ cards.

“Alright. I’m out. Again!”

B. J. chuckles at the annoyance on Hawkeye’s face. Tossing in another dollar, he calls Potter’s bid. The Colonel lays down a great hand. Great, but not _quite_ good enough. B. J. emerges victorious with a full house, adding a hefty sum to his already overflowing pot.

“Horse hockey! Well son, you’ve bested me yet again. Can’t say I recall losing this much dough since Sergeant McDonald beat me out with a pair of eights’ back in ’44.”

Radar, Klinger, and Father Mulcahy hide their smirks as Hawkeye rounds up the cards. B. J. starts pestering Hawkeye about cheating, insisting that he shuffle or else Hawkeye might dupe them all and deal himself a winning hand. The two surgeons squabble good-naturedly like brothers, eliciting snickers from the other members of the poker game.

“Oh, come on Beej! I won’t cheat! Scouts honor!”

“You were never a scout!"

The dark haired surgeon throws B. J. a look dripping with mock hurt.

"Why, B. J. Hunnicutt. You wound me, _wound_ me!"

With a dramatic flourish, Hawkeye throws his hand to his brow, feigning distress. 

"I shall never recover from this betrayal. Not ever. And for your information, Mr. Smart Alec, I _was_ a scout."

B. J. rolls his eyes and lunges for the cards, but Hawkeye shifts them tantalizing out of reach.

"Oh, yeah? For what, all of five seconds before you got kicked out?"

Hawkeye wiggles his eyebrows mischievously at his friend.

"Maybe I did, and maybe I didn't! A lady never tells."

Radar fixes Hawkeye with a curious look and asks, "You got kicked out of scouts, Hawk? For what?"

All eyes turn to the grinning surgeon.

"It was after five _minutes_ , I'll have you know. And it might have had something to do with efforts to make some excursions...co-ed."

Laughter fills the Swamp as Hawkeye continues his shuffling, pausing dramatically every now and again, which causes B. J. to yell foul.

Rolling his eyes, Potter nudges his company clerk and gestures at the bickering surgeons with his cigar. 

“Thick as thieves, aren’t they, Radar?”

“Oh, yes sir. Definitely. Joined at the hip is what my mom would say.”

“Never saw one without the other, did you?”

The words that leave Potter’s lips have an almost instantaneous effect on Hawkeye. He stops mid-shuffle, cards slipping from his fingers and tumbling towards the floor. The smile that was usually a permanent resident on his face disappears, leaving panicked shock in it's wake. There's an odd expression in the surgeon’s bright blue eyes, one that B. J. can't quite place. A hush falls over the Swamp. Everyone is looking uncertainly towards Hawkeye and his abrupt change in behavior. The man in question is staring intently at Colonel Potter, his mouth agape. Before anyone can say a word, Hawkeye is on his feet and hightailing it from the tent, slamming the door unceremoniously behind him.

Nothing happens for a moment or two. Breaking the shocked stupor, Potter clears his throat and fixes B. J. with an inquiring look.

“Hunnicutt…?”

B. J. opens his mouth, but nothing comes out. He honestly has no idea what just happened, has no logical explanation for his friend's behavior. Father Mulcahy, Klinger, and Radar are all trading small looks, unsure of what just happened. Potter finally catches B. J.’s eye and nods towards the door.

“I’d better…I’ll go…you guys keep playing. I’ll be back in a second,” B. J. mumbles. Without a second thought he’s out the door, scrambling after his friend with worry and confusion weighing heavy in his mind.

The remaining members of the forgotten poker game watch B. J.’s retreating form, each one lost in their own thoughts. Finally, Radar breaks the silence. He clears his throat nervously and fidgets with the sleeve of his jacket.

“I, uh. I think I might have a guess about…what happened, uh with Hawkeye, sir.”

The colonel pivots his gaze to the round-faced clerk. “Well?” Concern colors the usual steadfast cadence of his voice.

Radar flicks his eyes to where B. J. had just run out of the tent, a shadow of something crossing his face. It only took the corporal a few seconds to figure out why Potter’s quip had sent Hawkeye running. A distant voice, one he hadn’t thought about in a long time, whispers through his mind…if he focuses, he can just hear it. Calling his name. Joking about golf. Asking for a drink. Saying goodbye. Radar turns and gives Colonel Potter a sad smile.

* * *

It’s at least 15 minutes before B. J. finds him. His friend’s lanky frame is huddled against the back side of Rosie’s Bar. If he’s honest, he’s surprised he didn’t find his friend _inside_ the bar. But something’s…wrong. Even from a few feet away, B. J. can see the tremors coursing through Hawkeye’s shoulders, can hear the gulping gasps as he struggles to breathe normally. Uncertainty pauses B. J.’s movements. He’s caught his friend in an incredibly fragile moment…vulnerable…open. Hawkeye sought out this isolated spot for a reason. Maybe he didn’t want to be disturbed.

But the desperate hitched breathing coming from his friend sounds so broken. Wounded, even. B. J. knows he can’t leave him like this. Moving as slowly and silently as possible, B. J. picks his way towards Hawkeye. Carefully. He doesn’t want to startle him.

“Hawk…?”

Hawkeye’s head shoots up from where it had been resting on his drawn-up knees. His whole body is tensed, his breathing erratic. The outward signs belay his tumultuous emotions…he’s not in control.

Wild eyes meet B. J.’s concerned ones. Hawkeye jerks back and slides further away.

“No, no, no, no, no…” Hawkeye whispers frantically, trying to put as much space between him and B. J. as he can.

The younger surgeon watches Hawkeye with a heavy heart. His friend is like a cornered animal; panicking and afraid. With his hands raised, hoping he comes off as comforting, he tries again to close the distance between them. One step after the other. Slow, impossibly slow. Hawkeye doesn’t move away again, just watches his every move with fear in his eyes.

After what feel like the longest minutes of his life, B. J. finally reaches Hawkeye. He squats down, his knees protesting and popping at the movement. A tentative hand extends towards Hawkeye, hesitating in the air between them.

“Hawk?”

Tense silence.

Neither one dares to move or speak.

“You…you okay, buddy?”

B. J. can see Hawkeye swallowing quickly in an effort to compose himself. With confusion whispering through his mind, he slowly lays his hand on his friend’s shoulder. The tremors that course underneath his touch ensure that the knot of worry in B. J.’s gut only worsens.

The pair stay this way for some time, Hawkeye struggling to regain control and B. J. offering the little comfort he can.

* * *

Eventually, Hawkeye’s breathing slows down, with less hitching and desperation, and the shaking in his tensed muscles subsides. Distressed blue eyes meet B. J.’s, recognition flickering in their depths.

And then, just as quickly as his change in demeanor had come on in the Swamp, Hawkeye shoots to his feet. He tries to throw on a nonchalant smile, but it’s too forced. If it weren’t for the way his hands are shaking and the haunted look that shadows his face, B. J. would swear that the last few minutes were just a dream.

“All good, Beej. I’m fine. I’m-I’m all good-”

B. J. rolls his eyes.

“Yeah, right…”

The taller surgeon gets to his feet. He tries to catch his friend’s eye, but to no avail; Hawkeye is looking everywhere _but_ at him. He seems nervous, embarrassed even. And not anywhere close to “fine” or “good”.

Hawkeye attempts to push past him, wanting nothing more than to escape back to the Swamp and throw down one too many glasses from the still. But B. J. has other ideas. He can see the escape plan formulating in Hawkeye’s mind, and so he plants himself firmly in his friend’s way. The two do a little dance back and forth, shuffling left and right; B. J. isn’t letting him past. Hawkeye huffs frustratedly and steps back, raking a hand through his unkempt hair.

“Seriously, Beej. I’m not in the mood. _Let me by_.”

B. J.’s eyebrows shoot up at the underlying anger in his friend’s tone. He feels his own irritation blooming in his chest and steps purposefully towards Hawkeye.

“ _No._ ”

The briefest expression of shock ripples across the dark-haired surgeon’s face.

“Not gunna happen, Hawk. I know something’s up. For God’s sake, you were just…you were…you _are_ in _pain._ You can’t just pretend nothing happened, and you can’t pretend that I wasn’t here to see it. Let me in, Hawk. Let me _help_.”

He knows he’s pleading. B. J. can hear the desperation in his own voice. But one look at Hawkeye, and he can see how tenuously he’s holding on to his composure, a multitude of emotions leaking through and playing across his face.

Hawkeye tries to fix him with a fiery glare.

“There’s _nothing_ going on. Why don’t you just go back to your card game, and leave me alone.”

B. J. throws him an angry stare of his own, but there isn’t any real heat behind it. He knows that Hawkeye is just lashing out, trying to hide his volatile emotions, and distract him from the truth. The lies, the deception, the concealment…they work with everyone else, but not with B. J. Not since that night in the cave. From that moment on he’d really _seen_ Hawkeye; he noticed when his friend was quieter than usual, when his jokes sounded just a bit too forced, seen the darker emotions that he always tried to hide from everybody else.

Instead of rising to the bait, B. J. takes a breath, cocking his head to the side. His expression seems to say _I know what you’re trying to do and it’s not going to work. I’m your best friend for fuck’s sake. I’m here for you no matter what. Just trust me._

For a few moments, B. J. isn’t sure what Hawkeye is going to do. The older surgeon’s expression fluctuates quickly between defiant annoyance and…something else. Something darker. Something that tinges the blue of his eyes. Almost a pained, sorrowful uncertainty.

Hawkeye’s mouth opens and shuts, his haunted eyes never leaving B. J.’s. He hastily turns his back on the younger surgeon and crosses his arms defensively. B. J. sighs internally, knowing exactly what his friend is doing. He’s putting up walls. Pulling away from everyone, like he always did.

“I…I didn’t mean to just run off like that. Kinda rude of me, huh?”

B. J. holds his tongue, leaving the ball in Hawkeye’s court.

_Trust me._

A beat of strained silence.

“Would you believe I was just upset at losing five hands in a row…?”

B. J. raises an eyebrow inquisitively, disbelief turning his mouth into a frown.

_Trust me._

“A stomach ache?”

B. J. rolls his eyes (he seems to be doing that a lot more than usual tonight) at that one. He knows Hawkeye is just stalling, throwing out whatever excuses come to mind hoping one will stick. But B. J. isn’t about to let him off that easily. He just has to trust him, trust him enough to open up and let him _help._ It might be a bit pot calling the kettle black, as B. J. knows all too well that he is terrible at opening up to people. It was much easier to pretend to be fine, to knock back glass after glass of gut-turning gin and hope that helped you forget. There are times, though, that B. J. knows gin or a poker game just aren’t enough.

“You done stonewalling, or what?”

_Trust me, Hawk. Trust me._

Hawkeye’s shoulders tense. He slowly shakes his head and glances towards the sky, as if looking for an answer, some kind of strength or solace. But the inky darkness, punctuated by a smattering of muted starlight, offers nothing.

“It’s really not that big of a deal, Beej…”

B. J. huffs skeptically. He stays silent though, waiting, hoping the other man will continue. Maybe if he offers quiet comfort, just _stays_ so that Hawkeye knows he’s not alone, the older surgeon will eventually open up. He can’t push him or force him, because then Hawkeye will just retreat further into himself. So instead of peppering him with questions, he waits.

B. J. can practically see the cogs whirring in Hawkeye’s head, weighing the possible courses of action.

 _Trust me_.

He’s sure this isn’t the easiest decision for Hawkeye. B. J. would bet all the money he’s won tonight that he could count on one hand the number of times Hawkeye has let his walls down long enough to confide in someone.

B. J. realizes he’s holding his breath, and hesitantly exhales.

 _Just trust me_ …

A tentative voice breaks the silence.

“It really isn’t that big of a deal…I couldn’t tell you why I reacted the way I did. I’m…more embarrassed than anything…”

Hawkeye runs another hand through his raven hair, his mind made up. B. J. sees his shoulders sag in quiet resignation.

“It was what Colonel Potter said. I just haven’t heard that…in quite some time, is all. It surprised me…” A forced breath. “Almost as much as my reaction to it. Before I could even register what I was doing, I was on my feet, trying to run away from his words, trying to escape, I guess...”

Hawkeye turns slowly. Tears brim in his eyes as a self-conscious laugh escapes his lips.

“‘Never saw one without the other.’ Such a silly thing to get riled up about. But…it was something…Henry always used to say. Colonel Henry Blake, our old CO. He said it more times than I can remember about me and…um, Trapper. He was right, too. We were basically inseparable…”

B. J. watches as Hawkeye tucks his hands into his pockets. Shyly, the dark-haired surgeon gives him a shrug. He still looks uncertain, but no longer like he’s ready to bolt.

“Sorry for breaking up the poker game for,” Hawkeye gives another cautious shrug, “this. Unabashedly lame…almost makes me as crazy as Frank, right?”

B. J. gives him a small smile and shakes his head.

“Oh, no. If you were anywhere close to Burns level, then I’d _really_ have a cause for concern.”

An awkward silence stretches between them, with Hawkeye thoroughly inspecting his boots.

“I also don’t think it’s silly, or lame,” B. J. offers. “The phrase seemed normal to the rest of us, but it brought up some tough memories for you. Understandable, really.”

Hawkeye throws him a tired look.

“I’m sure Radar put two and two together quickly enough. I just…can’t even really explain it. I don’t know if I’m making any sense at all, Beej. It’s just, hearing those words…all of a sudden, all these things I haven’t thought about in months came up and hit me in the face. I could see Henry’s face, hear his laugh as he said those words. I could feel Trapper’s arm slung around my shoulder, could see him clinking his glass against mine. All the jokes, all the laughs, all the memories…they just came flooding back. And then…then I remembered they were gone. Nothing more bitter than a bittersweet memory, right?”

B. J. gives him a wan smile, blue eyes searching his friend's face. He knows how close Hawkeye had been to Trapper and Henry. Between some drunk confessions, and bits and pieces gleaned from Margaret, Radar, and Father Mulcahy, B. J. came to realize how their losses, one right after the other, almost broke Hawkeye. The resurfacing of those memories, the joyful and the painful, was enough to send anyone reeling from the room. Hawkeye takes his hands from his pockets and wrings them together. B. J. can still see a tinge of sadness crinkling around his friend’s eyes, but he is a now a far cry from the man he had found shaking on the ground behind Rosie’s bar, a captive to his memories. B. J. catches his eye and nods behind him, back towards the Swamp. Throws him an exaggerated wink.

“Can I buy you a drink, say a dry gin…or an even drier gin?”

 _Trust me_.

Hawkeye eyes him warily for the briefest of moments, before a hint of a smile pushes away the last of his hesitation.

“I thought you’d never ask.”

The lanky surgeon throws an arm around B. J. and begins steering him towards their tent.

* * *

The air is cool, but not uncomfortable. It reminds them both of the last nights of summer, right before the start of fall, when the leaves shed their brilliant green and tumble towards the yellowing earth. Their steps are unhurried, unburdened. The remaining wisps of melancholy that had clouded Hawkeye’s mind drift away atop the gentle, evening breeze. They pitch and tumble, rising off into the deepening night sky, finally relinquishing their oppressive hold. For the time being, the precipitous darkness is once again held at bay.

Everyone around them seems to be in the midst of their normal nightly rhythm; the habitual normality of it relaxing the last twinges of anxiety in Hawkeye’s shoulders. They pass Klinger, who has changed into a showstopping red number, with frills and bows galore; an over-the-top hat, a matching set of pumps, and a handbag complete the ensemble. He’s talking amicably with Father Mulcahy, complaining loudly about the recent offense that masqueraded as “dinner”. B. J. gives the two a slight nod, silently letting them know that Hawkeye was alright. He receives acknowledging nods in return, relief evident in their expressions.

The two surgeons nearly collide with Margaret and Frank as the pair zip towards post-op, the nurse’s head held high and Ferret Face eagerly following on her heels. Her annoyed tone and Frank’s high-pitched whine elicit chuckles from the pair.

“Hey Beej?”

The taller doctor glances at Hawkeye, giving him a questioning look. Piercing blue eyes meet his for a brief moment, before skirting away.

“Thank you. I…Just…thanks.”

B. J. smiles. Hawkeye may not be back to normal (or whatever passed for normal around here), but it was a start. No matter what lay ahead for the two surgeons, they’d tackle it together.

“Anytime, Hawk. After all, what are best friends for?”

**Author's Note:**

> As always, thank you, thank you, thank you for reading! If you enjoyed, please comment (:


End file.
